


"Two souls don’t find each other by simple accident."

by Likorys



Series: Tumblr snippets [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralt does a Stupid, Idiots in Love, M/M, and there is hair braiding, but locked in a cell he can't run from Jaskier so they talk, they make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likorys/pseuds/Likorys
Summary: At some point, Jaskier demanded to braid Geralt hair and he let him. It became a ritual, something just for them - then came a mountain and Geralt took a sword to his hair. Luckily, destiny has a funny way of bringing people together.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr snippets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651510
Comments: 6
Kudos: 295





	"Two souls don’t find each other by simple accident."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Jorge Luis Borges.

It wasn’t his greatest idea. He just grabbed the hair with his hand and cut, so it’s an uneven mess for weeks, before he does a contract in a proper town and someone takes pity on him, adding a visit to a barber in the payment.

He agrees ~~and doesn’t spend the hour tense and forcing himself to ignore the _wrongness_ of someone else’s touch, finger pulling at the knots to hard, too long nails scraping at his skin, small hairs catching at the ring barber doesn’t bother taking off, the oil smelling too strong~~ because maybe if they stop brushing against his skin, he will stop remembering Jaskier’s touch ~~and how much he loved it and missed it~~ (he doesn’t). It ends up too short to tie up, but not long enough to get in a way, so he forgets about them and pretends he forgot Jaskier as well (it doesn’t work either).

Then they grow back long enough to never stop moving against his neck and temples, falling into his eyes, but still not long enough to be kept in place by anything except maybe lard and he’s not that desperate. He grumbles and curses at it, but never seeks a barber, because he’s not sure he’d be able to stand it a second time ~~without bloodshed or crying or both~~.

Then he hears first rumours about Nilfgaardian plans and goes to Cintra and ends up in a cell and it’s even worse, because guards seem to relish in throwing the food and water at him just so they can throw a bucket-full to clean him up (he’s pretty confident the Queen knows about it - he’s even more confident she doesn’t expect it to do anything more than inconvenience him).

He tries to meditate to pass time and ignore the way his hair gets matted and clings to itself and bites into his neck ~~and doesn’t think about the familiarity, coming back from hunts with his hair a mess and Jaskier whining about it as he took care to clean and brush and braid it~~.

It works until it doesn’t.

“There’s a lovely metaphor somewhere here, I think…”

Geralt’s eyes snap open and his head moves up so fast his neck sends a jolt of pain to his brain, but he doesn’t care. He looks past loose strands falling into his eyes and drinks up the sight of Jaskier, leaning against a wall in front of him.

He’s still all bright silks and shiny rings, but some things changed. His hair is bleached wheat-gold, reaching his shoulders and curled in immaculate spirals. There is a bright red hat with white feathers on top of his head, and it should clash with blues and greens of his clothes, but somehow it works, just like dark mustache and small goatee because the bard only dyed his hair ~~just like how Jaskier should never get close to a witcher and yet he did, until Geralt destroyed it.~~

Geralt wants to apologize, wants to beg for forgiveness and for Jaskier to come back ~~and stay forever~~ , he wants to know why bard is in Cintra, wants to ask for help to get out, get the Child Surprise ~~and Jaskier too because it’s probably the only way he won’t scar the child for life~~ and run, wants to warn him about Nilfgaard and send him away where it’s safer, but-

“A metaphor?” is all that gets out of his mouth and he wants to die a little.

Then Jaskier laughs and he wants to melt into the stones of the cell’s floor.

“A valiant warrior with no brain who stormed the Lioness’ den, his hair a mess of spikes you’d daren’t touch... and the idiot with hair and heart of gold who fell for him and suffer all the more for it.” Jaskier’s voice it light, but his eyes are icy-blue when Geralt finds them and he knows he deserves it, but it still hurts ~~but it’s good because _hurt_ is better than nothing and at least Jaskier talks to him~~.

He turns his head around and stares at the dirty floor, trying to find something to say that would keep the bard here, but he comes short _~~I missed you~~_ ~~and _I love you_ and _come back_ and _I need you_ and _I can’t live without_ \- all flit through his head, but he doesn’t deserve it~~ so he just says:

“Nilfgaard will attack Cintra. You should get somewhere safer.” and doesn’t add _with me_ even though Jaskier can probably hear it ~~because he always knew him better than anyone~~. At least he knows that the bard is safe, that’s more than he deserved and he’ll take it and be glad.

Jaskier stays silent for a while until he sighs and then there are footsteps, moving away and Geralt slumps against the wall. He expected it and it’s what Jaskier should do, should listen to him and get to safety, but it still breaks something in him and-

Then the footsteps come back and there’s water sloshing and Geralt wants to laugh at the perfect timing, but-

“Come here.” Jaskier’s back and his voice is gentle and he’s sat right before the bars of the cell’s door, a bucket of water beside him and a towel on his lap.

Geralt doesn’t know how to react, so he raises his hands chained to the wall and shakes them for good measure.

Jaskier snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Pull it out the wall and sit here. King and Queen ventured out to fight, so nobody will care”. He says, a shadow darkening his eyes and Geralt’s heart drop because _he’s too late._

He grabs the pin holding chain in the wall and pulls, after a few tries ripping it with a cloud of dust and coughing when he inhales some of it.

“That’s a good witcher,” Jaskier’s words would be mocking on anyone else, but he only sounds exasperated and gentle and _so fond,_ that the heart Geralt’s not supposed to have squeezes painfully. “Now sit here, your back to me. Day or two more of this _mess_ on your head and I’m afraid razor would be the only solution.” He adds lightly, pushing hand through the bars of the cell and patting the dirty floor in front of him.

Geralt does what’s he’s told and tries not to think how deserved it would be to have his head pushed down into the water or something like that ~~and doesn’t wonder at the way he’s sure he’d allow it~~.

There is a splash, then a sopping wet towel lands on witchers head and Jaskier is talking again.

“Honestly, did you bathe in mud? I know your love of rivers, but you might try actually finding one deep enough to submerge once every month or something, Geralt.” his fingers push onto the towel, soaking his hair and neck. Water drips down his back and Geralt leans on the cell bars, closing his eyes. “I can’t even tell if the length looks good on you, which I expect it to because _every bloody thing_ looks good on you. It should honestly be illegal, because there should be no way to make _chains and cells_ look good on anyone!” Jaskier huffs, his hands spread over Geralt’s head and pushing down, and Geralt bites his cheek to stifle a groan. “It’s a crime against beauty that you cut it all, of course. Especially after I spent months making it not resemble a crow’s nest.” his voice is quieter and he takes the towel off, but before Geralt can say anything, a handful of water is dumped over his head.

He sputters, a little, surprised and indignant, but then Jaskier’s bare fingers land on his head and strokes, pressing hard at his matted hair and skin and he doesn’t hide the groan this time.

Jaskier chuckles, close enough Geralt feels the breath at his neck and slowly relaxes against the metal bars ~~and doesn’t that say everything about their relationship, Jaskier at the cell’s doors, pampering a caged monster~~.

Jaskier is quiet as he brushes his hands over and over Geralt’s hair. It pulls, at the start, the dirt and everything else crusted and clumped together, but Jaskier’s touch is delicate as he dumps more and more water and massages everything out, nimble fingers pulling it all and throwing away.

Geralt lets himself melt under this touch, closing his eyes tight and allowing himself to remember - sitting by the fire or in the room or in a bath, his hair pulled back and washed and stroked and braided.

Jaskier was often quiet then too, focused on the braids and on getting every single one of them perfect. In the beginning, Geralt’s joked that’s why he let him do it at all (and he was lying).

After a small eternity, Jaskier’s hands move away. Geralt sits straighter, wants to turn away and at least say his thanks before the bard’s gone, but then a cork is popped. The smell of nettle with hints of lavender fills the air and witcher’s breath hitches in his chest, his heart constricting.

“You still have-” he trails off, because his voice is too wet and too low and probably says more than he’d ever manage with words.

Jaskier sighs, his breath brushing over Geralt’s neck. When he talks, it’s resigned:

“Ciri likes it too.” he says, and it sounds every inch like the excuse that it is.

But he pours oil onto Geralt hair and his fingers slowly rub it in and witcher’s biting his lip to hold back moans because the princess might like it, but Jaskier had to have kept it to ever test it out. It’s probably just practical, why should the bard throw his own property away just because Geralt tossed him away?

Jaskier’s humming now, slim fingers picking up strands of white hair and rubbing oil into them, then into the skin. Geralt lets it lull him into relaxing against metal bars, head bowed slightly to provide access ~~his neck bare and vulnerable and out for the killing, but Jaskier’s fingers are too gentle to pull on a knot and instead pick on it until it unravels, his rings taken off and Geralt knows _he would never._~~

It ends all too soon again and then Jaskier is wetting the towel to wash most f the oils away.

“That’s gonna hurt.” he says and Geralt shrugs lightly, too mellowed out ~~too starved for bard’s touch after the awful months, or was it years already~~.

Then a brush pulls at his hair and he’s cursing up a storm until it’s pushed back, leaving his skin tingling and tender for a moment.

“Sorry” Jaskier’s voice is bright and not sorry at all when he does it again. Geralt grunts and grinds his teeth, but doesn’t even move. That’s the least he deserves ~~and maybe if he lets him do this, Jaskier will stay long enough to let him apologize~~.

It’s an agonizing process, Jaskier pulling the brush back every so often to take of clomps of hair before going back to painful brushing, but when all the mess is taken off, the pass of the bristles through witcher’s hair becomes slower, gentler, and _oh, so familiar_ ~~and so beloved~~.

“I’m sorry” slips past Geralt’s lips before he can stop himself and he tenses when the brush falters for a moment. But then it continues, as does the humming, so he forces himself to continue as well: “Sorry for all that I said that day… and everything before. You didn’t deserve it, any of it. Not like that- not ever.”

There’s a beat of silence, the humming gone, but the brush is still moving, and then:

“And?” 

Geralt falter for a moment, because he spends months hating himself for what he said to Jaskier and planning all the way he could apologize for it (mostly how to do it without uttering a word) so he understands that, but what else would Jaskier-?

Then a memory comes back to him.

He passed by that mountain a good while after their parting. He wanted to stay in the inn, but there was Jaskier’s voice inside and his songs ringing in the air, so he turned around and run like the coward that he is.

He tries to count the days - it would’ve been weeks, months after _everything that happened_ , yet Jaskier was still at the same inn Broach told then about the dragon mission. Geralt’s frowns, feeling he’s missed something obvious, and then his heart breaks into pieces when he finally connects everything.

“I’m sorry for leaving you” his voice is barely louder than the brush going through his hair. “For never coming back and abandoning you. You did nothing to deserve it and I’m so s-sorry-” he breaks off, breathing hard and blinking to fight off tears.

It wasn’t the first fight they had. Wasn’t the first time he stormed off and left Jaskier behind. Wasn’t the first time at all…

_I’ll get the rest of the story from the others._

He was so stupid. So stupid and so blind and _so heartbroken_ over Yennefer he decided to destroy the one thing he had left that made him _feel_ before it can make him _hurt_ as well.

“…unfair!” Jaskier drops the brush and his arms sneak around Geralt’s waist, his breath warm and unsteady against the nape of his neck. “You’re supposed to be all silent and broody like always, so I can drag it out of you and take my joy in it! Not- not this, you’re a-a _witcher,_ you shouldn’t grovel a-and get all m-mushy over a silly bard!

Geralt swallows down a lump in his throat and slowly covers Jaskier’s hands with his own. It’s clutching at his dirty tunic and shaking, so he brushes his thumb in little circles against soft skin until the trembling stops.

“I shouldn’t.” he agrees slowly, planning out every single word. “Not for a silly bard…” He tightens his hold on Jaskier’s hand when bard tries to pull it away and makes a grab for the other one, pulling them closer around himself. “For **you**.”

His neck is wet again and Jaskier lets out a pitiful mix of sob and laugh, holding onto him and shaking, beard scratching at his neck. Geralt leans his head back, nuzzling his check to curled hair and breathes in the familiar scent, his fingers idly stroking Jaskier’s hands.

They stay like that for a while, until Jaskier calms down and pulls away ~~and Geralt does not whine at the loss~~.

“Well, then. Braids.” Jaskier chuckles a little and his fingers are back in Geralt hair and it’s- a nice _sentiment_ , but it doesn’t make sense.

“They’re too short.” Geralt risks turning his head to the side, glancing at Jaskier.

His eyes are rimmed red and his hair is tousled and his doublet and shirt have wet spots and his sleeves are dirty and oily, but his smile is so radiant Geralt’s sucks in a desperate breath between his teeth.

With his hair so bright and his eyes so blue, he looks like sun given human body ~~and Geralt falls in love with him a little more, right here and there, in a cell of Cintran castle~~.

“I’m a man of many talents and it rings true when it comes to braiding as well.” is all Jaskier says before grabbing Geralt’s head and moving it into place. Then he’s brushing his hair with his fingers before pulling out strands. He does some little twisting as he somehow braids it, slowly moving to the side and down to his temple, then behind his ear t tie it off. “Doesn’t hurt?”

“No.” It pulls at Geralt’s skin but he relishes it, feels it long after Jaskier finished the line of braiding and moved to another, and another. Thought of feeling every braid on his skin is… pleasant. A constant reminder, felt when he cannot see it.

All too soon it’s finished and Jaskier is suspiciously silent.

“That bad?” Geralt jokes, even though he knows he’ll keep whatever Jaskier did even if it was hideous.

“It’s not-!” Jaskier snaps and sighs, clearly not able to convince even himself. “That might not have been the best idea,” he admits with air of defeat, his fingers trailing along Geralt’s skin between two braids and the witcher sighs, content. “They look _ridiculous_ , I’ll take them out and try something-

“They’re perfect.” Geralt stops him gently, reaching to hold his wrist because Jaskier’s already reaching to the ties of a braid.

“You can’t even see them.” Jaskier nudges his back, tone petulant.

“Don’t have to.” Geralt breaths in slowly, then slowly adds “You did them, so. It’s perfect.”

It’s clumsy and stilted, but Jaskier laughs and rests his forehead on his arm, so it was worth all the discomfort.

“Well,” he says after a moment, hand twisting in Geralt’s hold to link their fingers together and witcher hold them tighter. “I’m still gonna go look for some flowers.” voice whispers along his back and sends a shiver along his spine, but bard’s next words are careful and slow: “They seem to work wonders at making you not terrify children and we’re gonna need that.”

Geralt bites his lip, because he did come to Cintra, but the idea of claiming his child of surprise still terrifies him. Maybe if it was _a boy_ , or at least not _a princess_ , someone he could teach what he knows and don’t feel guilty about destroying a life… but it’s a princess and he’s gonna have to deal with it.

He hopes Jaskier will help him make it right by her.

“No lilies,” he says in the end, because Jaskier made that mistake only once, but Geralt had to deal with the smell that sunk into his hair for 3 days and it was awful.

Jaskier smiles against his skin.

“Sure, no lilies.” he agrees softly and pulls away, slow and hesitant. Geralt turns around as he does, their hands lingering, fingers linked with each other on his lap. “I’ll get the key and some clothes. I think I know when they put your things as well…” he trails off, looking over Geralt’s face as if he’s looking for something.

Geralt swallows the lump in his throat again and nods, then pulls the bard closer.

“I’ll wait.” he says, his heart skipping a beat as he ads “and come look for you if you don’t.”

“Please don’t break out of royal prison for me.” Jaskier shakes his head, but when he laughs it’s a little wet and his eyes are shining when he looks at the witcher. “I’ll come back, so you won’t have to. Can’t really kidnap a princess _quietly_ if you’ll put all the guards on alert.”

“How do you know anyone would notice?” Geralt smirks, says it just to hear Jaskier laugh again before the bard pulls away and stands up.

“I know _you_.” he says simply, his eyes soft as bluebird’s feathers.

Geralt doesn’t comment on that ~~because it’s true~~ and watches Jaskier gather his things and then go away, strains against the bars to keep him in his line of sight as long as he can.

Then he sits back against the wall, pin holding the chains put back in the wall to keep the illusion, but his hands come up to brush against tight braids pulling against his skin every so often.

_Jaskier doesn’t come for days, and when he does, he’s frantic and shaking and there’s blood on his cheek and smell of poison on his sleeve. Geralt takes the key from his shaking fingers to open the cell and then his cuffs, puts on his armor and swords._

_They run out and see a black soldier galloping towards the gates, a clash of royal blue cloak and pale blonde hair on the horse’s back, and run after them._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post by @mculadyloki that you can find here https://mculadyloki.tumblr.com/post/190559576260/okay-so-when-geralts-on-the-road-and-doesnt


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